favourite poems, #1

There’ll always be the floating end of nights
which started off inside the grumbling car
and rolled towards the city. At the lights
you’d see your dreams all shrunk up as a scar
you’d never seen before. There, on your hand.
- A fleck, a flaw still biting at the skin
which bled each time you sold out what you’d planned
and told yourself that somehow you’d still win.
You’re half-surprised, that compromise should show
itself so boldly against your tightening fist
but still there’s nothing that you didn’t know
life’s just a string of chances, each one missed.

The light has turned to green, your right foot falls
your car your life, exhausted, coughs and stalls.


L. Perera